Superman vs the Spanish Civil War
by Scottenkainen
Summary: It's back!  This is my 2nd rewrite, but I think I finally have a finished product that satisfies me.  I hope those who read the earlier incarnations will come back and try this new version!


March 15, 1939. Wednesday morning.

A dozen Breda 65 single engine bombers whined through the sky over Madrid, dropping their payload of bombs toward the beleaguered city below.

Superman was ready for them. He had gathered dozens of large rocks, each weighing between 75 and 100 lbs, and had arranged them in a wide circle around him at the very center of the city. He picked up the first one at threw it straight up like a shot put. The rock flew like a missile up into the air to where the first of the bombs were halfway to the city, one-third of a mile overhead. The first rock missed all the targets, but Superman had the range and had already putted four more into the sky. The second one hit a bomb and exploded it. The explosion took out four more bombs around it. The fourth rock caused a second wave of explosions to rip across the sky. But more bombs were falling closer and looking larger in the sky. They were dangerously close now, but they also made larger targets. Superman threw more rocks at the bombs dropping in every direction around him. They were low enough in the sky that it was almost impossible to hit the plungers on the bottom of them now. Many rocks only succeeded in knocking the bombs off course so they would fall outside the city. A lucky hit to the southwest exploded one more bomb in mid-air and saved a neighborhood.

The explosions rumbled and echoed throughout the city and then were over. The whine of the planes was lessening as they flew away from Madrid. In the neighborhood where Superman stood, the noise of cheers could be heard over all else. They had seen what Superman had done and were thankful.

Colonel Casado left the body of awed troops behind him and walked straight up to Superman. "What are you doing?" Casado asked angrily in English. "We can't hold out against the Nationalists!"

"You can now," Superman said.

"But hold out for what? We are the last of the Republic. Except for you, there is no one left to reinforce us."

"When other nations see how you did not give up, they will renew their efforts to help you."

"I hope you are right, Superman," Casado said.

Superman looked as confident as ever, but inside he was thinking "I hope I'm right too."

March 15, 1939. Wednesday evening, Gibraltar.

With the Hispano-Suiza in neutral, Superman had been able to push it at a breakneck speed of 100 MPH. The breaks on the old car were not up to the ride at that speed and whether the car or Lois inside was making more noise the whole way was a matter of internal debate that had kept a smile on Superman's face for most of the three-hour trip. When they arrived at Gibraltar, Superman emerged from behind the car not even out of breath. He let Lois out of the car and gently grapped her arm as she tried to make a break for it.

"What are you thinking?" Superman asked. "That you're going back to Madrid?"

"That's where the story is," Lois replied stubbornly. Then she changed to a sweeter, reconciliatory tone. "Superman, let me stay! I can help."

Superman kept his hold on Lois' arm by her elbow. He willed his voice to stay hard, for if it should soften too much with emotion he would sound more like Clark Kent. "Lois, I want you to stay here, in Gibraltar, where the civil war can't touch you. I know you think it's your duty as a reporter to stay, but let others handle it. If you won't stay here, I'll put you on a boat to Africa before I head back."

"Oh, Superman," Lois cooed. "You do care."

Superman forced himself not to wince. This was exactly how he wished she had spoken to him, as Clark Kent, on the boat trip to Spain.

"This is only a personal request because I know how you operate. You try to get too close to the story, closer than any journalist with sense would do. I'd say the same thing to any other reporter in your shoes."

"I'd like to see them try to get in my shoes."

"I'm serious, Lois!" Superman said sharply, letting go of her arm for fear he might squeeze it. "Madrid is going to be a war zone when I get back and I'll be too busy to protect you."

"I know," Lois said, her pride hurt a little, but otherwise strong and defiant. "I know all that, Superman. And I can look after myself."

Superman watched her face for anything that might give away deception, but she looked completely honest. Of course, he still expected her to turn up in Madrid again, but at least dropping her off here and making her find her own way back would keep her out of his hair for awhile. But not out of his mind.

March 16, 1939. Thursday morning.

Superman pushed thoughts of Lois from his mind as he spotted familiar landmarks and knew he was closing in fast on Madrid, the besieged city. He slowed his pace so that he was only running as fast as a speeding automobile when he came within sight of the Nationalist Army between himself and his goal. As far as armies went it was not huge – 1,100 infantry, 20 armored cars, and 4 Italian-made light tanks. What made Superman's blood boil was his knowing that the forces left to the Republic Army inside the city were no match for the force outside. The fascist attackers were watching the city for signs of surrender, not for Superman. Their mistake.

Before anyone knew what was about to hit them, Superman raced to the nearest armored car, reached under the chassis, and snatched it over his head. Infantrymen armed with carbines and rifles looked on in astonishment as Superman tossed the car as hard as he could against the nearest tank. The heavy impact crushed the tank's armor as the armored car rolled over the top of it with the squealing and grinding of metal on metal. The infantrymen had followed the action with their disbelieving eyes, but then turned back with fear to gaze on the solitary figure of Superman standing before them, his red cape flapping in a breeze behind him.

The operators of the next nearest armored cars were not so idle. Fearing they were his next targets, they swiveled their Hotchkiss revolving cannons into line of fire with their lone assailant. But Superman was moving fast again and sprinted away from the dirt hill that was torn into pieces by the barrage of shells that burst from the revolving barrels aimed at where he had been. The howl of the machine guns seemed to shock the infantrymen back to life and they raised their weapons to join in the fight.

Superman took a fantastic leap that arced over the range of the turrets and landed on the roof of the second-closest tank faster than the riflemen could keep up. He reached down, tore off the door on the roof of the tank as if it were a bottle cap, and jumped inside the tank just as a hail of bullets bounced off the tank's roof. There was a brief eruption of gunfire from inside the tank before resistance to the intruder was silenced. The battlefield grew silent for a moment as the soldiers tried to assess the situation, but before orders could be given the commandeered tank began to move. It rolled out in the direction of troops that scattered wisely from out of the path of its treads, while bolder troops behind it were urged by their sergeants into attacking the tank with their machine pistols or trying to climb aboard the moving tank. Superman's tank slowed and turned its treads so that it would run in front of the remaining tank and then turned its turret to face the same target. The targeted tank had turned its turret too and was prepared to take out the commandeered tank before becoming the next casualty. It fired its cannon and shattered the armor of Superman's tank. A second cannon shell was also a direct hit and the top of Superman's tank exploded and took out some of the troops climbing on it with it!

Many soldiers on the field smiled to think that was the end of the American Superman, but were shocked again to see that Superman had already punched his way through the bottom of the tank and escaped the explosion! He snatched the now-flaming tank over his head, impossibly jumped into the air, and threw the fiery, 2-ton missile straight down onto the tank that had attacked it. The resulting fireball engulfed both tanks and sent nearby infantrymen hurling through the air from the force of the explosion or running away screaming and wreathed in flames. Superman fell back onto the battlefield, hurtling down like a meteor through the roof of a third tank. There was a short scuffle inside, a protracted burst of gunfire, and then Superman repeated the same stunt as before – lifting the tank into the air from underneath and tossing it onto the last tank. In the space of a few minutes, Superman had wiped out the attacking army's heavy guns.

But Superman had also wiped out his best cover, and the machine gunners in the army had taken time to aim. While Superman was briefly out in the open, dozens of bullets pounded on him from a swarm of hundreds that raced past him. Superman's costume and cape were shredded by the impact in over a dozen spots. Superman, not braced for the impact, was hurled back by the force of it and nearly lost his footing. His near-invulnerable skin held firm, though it bruised at nearly every point of impact. All that occurred in an instant, and then Superman was on the move again. He moved like quicksilver through the army, using its own ranks for cover. Panicking gunners swiveled their guns after him and struck scores of their own soldiers instead. A few stray bullets did manage to hit Superman, though, and their cumulative effect was starting to slow him down. By the time he had picked up another armored car to use as a shield and a weapon, he was struck at close range in the temple and the jarring impact made him drop the car.

The tide of the battle was turning and the Spanish soldiers could feel it. Superman was on the defensive, dodging instead of attacking. Like sharks smelling blood in the water, the Spaniards forgot all about Madrid and turned their attention wholly on Superman. As Superman made his way to the rear of the battlefield, half of the remaining armored cars were ordered to pursue. In truth, Superman had wanted this to happen, to lure the army away from Madrid, but not all of his weakness was pretended. He had taken at least 30 bullet hits so far, including two to the head, and they were making him woozy. But still he pressed on. He was coming up on a copse of trees, which was what he needed. He leapt to the edge of the copse with a bound and tore a tall, old tree out of the ground. He tossed it into the path of the armored cars, and then another, and another. Then he began pitching trees farther, behind the armored cars, to box them in. The cars rumbled to a halt while their drivers tried to figure out how to deal with these superhuman challenges.

The answer came quickly in the form of grenades lobbed from the passengers, grenades that shattered the wooden barrier. The debris left from the explosions, which would have been no challenge for tank treads, was almost too much for the car chassis to handle and the lead cars bobbed up and down spastically as they rolled over the debris. Superman took advantage of this, knowing the gunners would not be able to aim while being so shaken, and rushed the double row of lead cars. There was a roar of gunfire, but it all went over Superman's head as he bent down, picked up each car by its front fender, and flipped them over into the cars behind them. Superman ran up the upturned undercarriage of one car like a ramp, or a springboard, dove off the back end, and soared through the air over the trapped vehicles. At the rear of the line of cars, grenades were being tossed at the logs blocking their retreat. Superman plucked two grenades right out of the air and tossed them into the enclosure and the closely-packed cars. One grenade landed right inside the gunner turret on top of a car and exploded. When that car exploded, cars around it began to explode like self-destructing dominoes.

Superman grimaced and turned away, increasingly uncomfortable in his own role in all this death and destruction. It was the wrong time to relax his guard, as he had turned right into an exploding grenade. The explosive force and the surprise of it were enough to knock Superman off his feet and he landed flat-out on the ground. And while all this had been going on, foot soldiers had amassed closer to investigate the flying trees. They lifted their rifles and fired a volley of shots at the fallen Superman. The bullets tore through his costume and landed hard on Superman's bruised flesh. Superman rose to his feet, despite the hail of bullets on his backside. He ran. He vaulted far over the mass of burning vehicles in one incredible running long jump and landed on the ground running a half-mile away. Just a breather, he told himself, was all he needed. Once he had a moment's rest, well out of range of attack, he would go back and do more.

Superman did not remember passing out, but when he woke up, he was laying down in a bed, indoors. The bedroom was spartanly furnished, but the lack of bars on the windows suggested he was no prisoner, and the cross on the wall suggested his hosts were religious. Superman threw the covers off and noticed he was wearing a simple, man's nightgown. There was no sign of his costume. He quietly climbed out of bed. The aches and pains were all gone and he felt no bruising when he touched his back through the shirt. He listened carefully and heard one guard resting outside the door, and at least one or two other people moving within his earshot. The echoes of soft shoes shuffling on stone floors suggested the building was spacious, under-staffed, and unusually quiet. He decides to let his hosts know he was awake by opening the door to his room.

A young man dressed like a monk had been sitting on a stool and leaning on the wall of his room, almost asleep, but jumped up with alarm when the door opened. The young monk looked terrified, but did not cry out. Instead, he turned and fled down the corridor outside the bedroom as fast as he could. Superman decided to simply follow him. The flight of the monk led Superman through the turning corridors to the central chamber, faster than Superman would have found it on his own. The room was a huge, ornate chapel with a tall, vaulted, painted ceiling, wall paintings, and a checkerboard marble floor below. Superman was on the second floor of the room, taking in the details as the young monk fled down steps to the floor below were two older monks stood by an archway. The young monk, out of breath, tried to compose himself before his two superiors, who quietly looked up to greet Superman.

"Where am I?" Superman asked.

"This is the Monastery of San Lorenzo El Escorial," one of the older monks said in accented English.

Superman was not familiar with the name, but since no one had started shooting at him, he decided to accept that he was welcome here. He started down the stairs to their level. "How did I come to be here?" he asked in transit.

"You stumbled practically onto our doorstep," the monk continued to answer for the others, waiting patiently where he was for Superman to reach him. "Your clothes were in shreds and you were badly bruised all over. You spoke, but we could not make out what you were saying. So we just assumed you were asking for sanctuary. Especially when the army turned up looking for you soon after."

Superman joined them in close proximity. Having made no display of his superpowers, and certainly not dressed to impress, Superman had only his personal charisma and the curious nature of his arrival there to command their attention. "What day is it?" he asked.

"Today is the 18th."

"I lost two days? That's impossible!" Superman shot back defiantly. "I shouldn't have needed nearly that long to heal."

"You do appear to be much better than when we took you in. I can't imagine what country your clothes were fashionable in before you came here, but we have sewn them up as well as possible." The older monk then gave some short commands to the young monk in Spanish and the young monk raced off to obey them. "I am Bishop Rodrigo. And you are…?"

"…A friend," Superman decided to answer cautiously.

"Is that so? Then surely you were not involved in the massacre at Madrid."

"That depends on which side was massacred," Superman responded, still cautious, but emboldened by the bishop's hint of being on one side of the conflict.

"Please, walk with me," Bishop Rodrigo said. Superman complied, and they walked past an archway that led to the altar room, to an archway that led to a side gallery. They walked side-by-side through the gallery. "The art showcased here represents Spain's history," Rodrigo continued. "It is not a bloodless history, I know. The death of 50 soldiers in Madrid is just a drop compared to all the blood that has been spilled forging the nation we have today. But the time for bloodshed should have been past. The armed forces outside Madrid were not unexpected and not entirely unwelcome. The transfer of power to the Nationalists should have been a peaceful one."

"There were still those in Madrid who wanted to fight. I just gave them an example to follow."

"Their cause is lost. The war is over. It is time for both sides to lay down arms and become a united Spain again."

"A united Spain that quashes the voice of dissidence. Peace without choice is a peace undesirable."

"You seem very confident in your position. Confident in yourself. Then I wonder what you will decide to do about this," the humbly-dressed bishop said calmly as he walked to an outside window and pointed to the ground below.

Outside, on the monastery grounds, hundreds of Nationalist troops were standing on guard.

"They are here for you, you know," Bishop Rodrigo continued. "They wait for you. But why make them wait? You could go out and attack them right now. Carry on your one-man crusade for the old Republic."

Superman just stood there at the window, looking out.

"Or does something else make you hesitate?" Rodrigo continued. "You are physically well, you know. You healed before our eyes almost as soon as we laid you down. We assumed it was a miracle at first. But then we learned about what you had done, and…"

"You don't know if God is on my side?" Superman asked.

"No, we don't."

"Neither do I."

March 18, 1939. Saturday evening.

Superman was sitting in a library of the grand monastery, relaxing in a comfortable chair, with his feet propped up, while leafing through a medieval copy of the Bible and wearing his full costume. It would have been quite a surprise if the monks had not become accustomed to seeing him hanging around.

"Can you read Latin?" Bishop Rodrigo asked. He had exchanged his monk robes for more comfortable robes more befitting his station.

"My reading comprehension in Latin is pretty basic," Superman confessed, "but I was admiring this as a work of art."

"Then you have good taste in art," Rodrigo remarked with an appreciative nod. "Would it be wrong for me to ask if you are Roman Catholic?"

"I'm not sure what I believe," Superman answered, sitting the Bible down and standing up. "I've been asking many questions of who I am and how I can do the things that I do, but I don't find answers to those questions anywhere I look."

"God must have a plan for you. Some need of your great strength."

"And the one thing I've always been sure about is that I knew my purpose. To help the poor, the downtrodden, the victims who need a champion. But when that cause means I'm killing soldiers whose only crime is doing what their government told them to do…I'm not sure I can do this anymore."

Bishop Rodrigo looked like he was about to say something else when they were interrupted. A nun in full habit had walked into the room with two monks, but Superman immediately recognized who the "nun" really was.

"What do you think you're doing, Lois?" he asked.

"Getting the inside story on your capture, Superman," Lois replied, taking off her hood.

"The army let her through, believing her disguise," one of the monks told his superior, "but we recognized that she did not belong here. Instead of letting us turn her over to the authorities, she insisted on seeing you first, Bishop."

"She has had her audience," Bishop Rodrigo said angrily. "Now take her away."

"Wait!" Superman said. "Let her stay."

Lois ran to Superman's side. "Superman," she said, "what happened to you? Why did you let yourself get captured and taken here?"

"It's wasn't entirely by choice," Superman began to explain.

"Superman," Rodrigo said, "you should not let yourself be distracted from your spiritual reclamation. There are more important matters at hand."

"What is he talking about?" Lois asked Superman.

"Lois…" Superman said, as meekly as Clark Kent would have sounded, "I may have lost my way."

"What are YOU talking about?" Lois asked. "You can't lose your way anymore than you could fail to lift an automobile over your head."

"Superman has much to answer for in the eyes of God," the Bishop said.

"Look, Superman," Lois said, ignoring everyone else and just looking up into Superman's eyes. "You said a few days ago that you know how I operate. But I know how you operate too. You're never corrupted by power, greed, avarice, or anything else that would make you like an ordinary man. That's why you're Superman. You always do the right thing."

"But I've killed," Superman said.

"Then that was the right thing to do. Or the only thing you could do to make a difference. And you did that. The Nationalist government is finally talking again to the Republicans holding out in Madrid. They'll give the Republicans a minority voice in the new government, because they're afraid if they don't, you'll stick around and kick their butts. And this guy," she said, pointing to the bishop, "is desperate to make you switch sides before that happens. The Church is a huge supporter of the Nationalists."

"Superman," Bishop Rodrigo said imploringly. "Look to your heart—"

An icy stare from Superman froze him in mid-sentence. "I see how my heart is just fine now," he said. "For the last two days, I only thought I was suffering from self-doubt, when you were actually encouraging me to wallow in self-pity. I may wind up hating some of the things I have to do as Superman, but that is always who I'll be and I won't shirk from the responsibilities that brings."

Lois was so relieved to hear his speech that she gave Superman a hug.

"Does that mean you will continue your one-man crusade against our country?" Bishop Rodrigo asked.

"…No," Superman answered, surprising everyone. "I came here, like Lois said, to make a difference, not to win a war. And right now I'm too deep into this to see objectively if I am still needed here or not. So I'll return to the U.S., monitor your progress at peace over here, and if peace fails to take hold, you can believe I'll be back. Ready to go, Lois?"

No one tried to stop Superman and Lois as they made their way to the open air of the monastery grounds. Superman picked up and held Lois, still in her nun disguise.

"Let's try not to make a habit of this?" he joked.

"Oh, har, har," she said. And then she held on tight as Superman took a running start at the curtain wall of the compound and vaulted way up over it. They soared like a plane over the troops massed outside. The troops were caught off-guard by the abruptness of Superman's reappearance and only managed to fire a few dozen times in his direction, all without aim or accuracy. Superman spun in mid-air to keep Lois facing up and his back facing down as a shield, but the precaution proved unnecessary. Soon, they were both home free.


End file.
